Fly

I don’t struggle in the web,
It’ll buy me some time from the spiders.
I should have seen it, I was eaten by spiders before.
But this one isn’t the same,
It isn’t trapping, it isn’t white, not arachnoid.
No, it’s a fly like me that made it.
One whose flesh I’ve seen, but yet to know,
Whose mind I’ve heard, but yet to feel,
They could be all or nothing or something else, it wouldn’t matter.
It’s the resonance, the perfect octaves that make the web shiver.

The other coils its web around me,
It latches to my skin, seeps through the pores,
Rushes with the blood, fills my head,
Lodges in my heart,
And then flies.